Freedom
by Tayhlia
Summary: A cave in forces Hawke and Fenris to confront the truth. Freedom is a symbol they both long for and neither has.


**AuthorsNote:** I do not own anything from Dragon Age 2, 1, or any thing affilated with Dragon Age. This story is based in Act 1 before the Deep Roads, shortly after mage Mykale Hawke meets Fenris, an exslave and elven warrior.

* * *

_Freedom: _The power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint

* * *

Something hit her from the side, slamming her into the ground mere milliseconds before a blast wave of heat and debris flew out. Squeezing her eyes shut, Mykale could feel the dirt and dust with the blistering warmth bite at her cheeks and arms. Then, just as soon as it had happened, it was gone, the rush of air leaving a decided chill.

Blinking, Mykale looked up at the living shield, confused and grateful all the same. Fenris, the elven warrior she had met, still hovered above her, shielding her body with his, taking the brunt of the explosion. His mossy green eyes were scanning their surroundings for any signs of attack.

"Andraste's knickers," she heard a groan come from behind them. There was the sound of shifting rubble. "Is everyone all right? Does anyone need healing?" Anders called out.

Mykale found the elf turning his gaze to her, seemingly searching for any injuries.

"Just great, I've got my leg stuck," Isabela complained. "Going to ruin my boots,"

"And you're not worried that you might have broken that leg?" Anders retorted.

Fenris slowly moved off of her, allowing Mykale to sit. "Thank you," she said quietly, earning her another intense look. "If you hadn't," she trailed off, both knowing what she had not said. If he hadn't tackled her to the ground she would have taken the brunt of the detonation.

He gave a curt emotionless nod. The man started to stand when his face contorted in pain, hand shooting to his shoulder. He pulled the gauntleted hand away, Mykale was aware that there was blood coating the metal.

"You're hurt," she whispered, shifting to her knees. Fenris flinched, recoiling back when she reached toward him. His head bowed, allowing his shock-white hair to dip in his eyes and avoided her gaze. "I just wanted to see how bad it was," Mykale explained. While no one who discovered she was magical ever really jumped for joy, she had never had such a reaction of fear and unadulterated loathing.

"Hawke," Anders called out.

Glancing behind her, she realized the entryway she had come through was collapsed, the broken wooden frame encased with rocks and boulders. "We're fine, Anders." Mykale got to her feet. "A little claustrophobic at the moment,"

"Is there a way out on your end?"

Mykale looked behind her and sighed. "No," she called. "The other door caved in as well," Squinting up, she saw a small hole in the ceiling where light was shining in. Quickly she relayed the information to Anders.

"Can you get to it?"

"Not easily," She spotted a few low hanging roots that given leverage she might be able to grasp and pull herself up with. There was the sound of something shifting. "What are you doing?" A few pebbles sprinkled down from above her.

"Trying to dig you out!"

Several more stones vibrated loose. "Anders," Mykale looked at the wall. The rocks that fell were getting a little bigger. "ANDERS!" she jumped back as a pile of rocks rumbled, cascading to the spot she had been in. Louder thuds came from the other side of the wall. "Anders?"

"I'm fine." His voice was fainter now. "I can't dig you out,"

"No kidding," she muttered looking away. Fenris was watching the exchange with arched eyebrows. "Look, you have to go get help," she finally said.

"I'm not leaving you here alone!"

"I'm not alone," she retorted. She could swear she heard Anders let out a few choice curse words relating to the idea of leaving her alone with Fenris; a man who had frequently expressed his dislike for mages. "Go back to Kirkwall; you can't get us out without help,"

For several moments Mykale wondered if he was going to remain. She heard him hit the wall and then shout: "All right, just, be careful, Hawke."

"Will do," she said before turning around, satisfied he was going to get help. Looking back at Fenris she tried to ignore the distaste he had on his face. "So…I guess this is a bad time to confess my hatred for caves?"

He made a face. "You're planning an expedition to the Deep Roads and you hate caves,"

Waving her hand at him, she didn't miss how he flinched, his eyes shooting to her staff and then back to her face. "Hush, don't confuse me with your logic," A wiry smirk appeared on his face but was wiped away a second later. "Do you think you can give me a lift?" He stared at her. She motioned to the ceiling. "Maybe we can get out that way,"

"Looks unstable," he warned.

Mykale rolled her eyes. "We're in a mini-cave whose entrances collapsed on itself, of course it looks unstable," He didn't respond. "I'll cast a shield around you," she offered. "If anything caves in again at least we'll be protected this time," She reached for her staff. Fenris backed away. "I'm not going to hurt you," It was clear that he didn't believe her. "I'm a mage, Fenris. You've gone on excursions with me nearly a dozen times, haven't you gotten used to it by now,"

"Just because I ignore your spells when cast at the enemy does not mean I will allow you to cast them upon me," he snipped.

"Is that why you won't let me heal you?"

He didn't answer but she could read his face easily enough. The elf still didn't trust her because of what the Tevinter mages had done. Frustrated, Mykale turned her attention back on their problem. She hated caves, for more than one reason. He might be content to sit around waiting to be rescued but she had to do something, even if it failed.

Leaning her staff against the wall, she assessed it. There were a few footholds that might give her enough height to reach the lowest root. Maybe if she got it, she could hoist herself up.

Digging her boot into the first spot she pushed up, grabbing at another spot on the wall higher. She moved slowly, it had been years since she had done something like this—mostly she had climbed trees. Her muscles groaned, aching with the exertion. Reaching out she grasped the edge of a handhold when it crumbled.

Though only a few feet up, Mykale grunted when she landed, the stone scraping into her palms painfully. Fenris jerked, as though to catch her but he was still across the tiny room, too far to reach her before she hit the ground. Grumbling, Mykale sat, crossing her legs and staring at her hands. Blood pooled in the gashes that had been made.

Huffing a strand of hair out of her face, she picked at a few of the pebbles that embedded themselves into her skin. "Stupid rocks," She shot a glare at the wall she had fallen from before looking back at her hands. The hairs on the back of her neck raised and she became aware of the heated scowl Fenris was giving her. "What? They should know better than to throw me off like that," she got up, careful not to push her palms on the ground.

His eyes were on the blood that had started a small trail down her wrist.

Wincing she pulled another small rock from the wound. "Maker, that stings,"

She waved her hand, blood splashing toward the wall. There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like—Mykale's heart ran cold. Fenris had drawn his blade. It wasn't pointed at her—yet. He was still watching her with the tension of a mabari ready to pounce. Mykale followed his gaze to her hands and then to the wall when it occurred to her.

"I'm not going to use blood magic, Fenris." She snapped. He didn't move. "Why is it you always think the worst of me? I've never used any sort of dark magic before, what could possibly make you think I'd use it now?"

Fenris sneered at her. "Mages find many less prudent reasons to justify their need for power,"

Closing her eyes, she forced a small controlled mind blast to burst from her hands, bit her lip to avoid the cry of pain as the remaining pebbles flung themselves free. Holding her hands up to him she cast a healing spell, allowing the light to bathe her hands and seal her wounds. The blood dissipated.

Spinning around, she faced the wall again. Every part of her loathed how much that distrust hurt her. All her life she had been told about the evils of magic. She knew from firsthand experience that the moment magic came into the equation people stopped seeing a person and started seeing a thing, a monster, all the things a mage _could_ become.

Why did she torture herself with this man? He had made it clear from day one that he abhorred all mages. Despite that, Mykale felt the need to help him and every time she tried, she felt as though he rebuffed her, painting her with the same brush as the magisters and all other monsters that existed. He had been horridly abused and fought for nothing more than freedom from his oppressors and she understood that. Anders, though a little too fanatical, had been right. There were a lot of similarities between slaves and mages.

Shaking her head, trying to rid herself of the thoughts of the elf that plagued her mind, Mykale determinedly climbed the wall again. She wanted out of this cave, if she could just reach the—her fingertips brushed the tip of the root. Securing her hold on it, she fumbled for another foothold. As she started to move up, she could feel it before it happened. The dirt and rock around the root was shifting, giving away.

Cursing, she released the root. Something was still shifting, the root still sliding. Scrambling down the wall, she backed away. A rock crashed down in front of her. Mykale let out a squeak and leapt backwards, her body colliding with Fenris forcing him to stumble back into the cave wall, earning a painful grunt from the elf. Several rocks rained down, hitting the ground where she had just stood. Then the small room they were in plunged into complete darkness.

Her body went rigid, fear prickling her senses, barely aware that she still was against Fenris. She was terrified of the dark; ever since she was a child. Burning candles to the nub through the night became an expense her family had learned to deal with. It had been years since she had been encased by such blackness.

"Hawke," the voice tickled her neck causing her to draw in a sharp breath, frightened before she remembered—

"Fenris," she turned blindly, nearly falling. His arms shot out, barring her tumble to the ground. "Sorry," she muttered.

Extending her arm she flexed her hand. It took several sparks before she had a ball of fire in her palm. The shadows danced but somehow it was more comforting than complete darkness. Even though she knew that she and Fenris were alone in the cave, it still made her uneasy to be in the dark.

"What little air we have will be eaten by that flame," Fenris cautioned.

His words were all Mykale needed to lose control and the fire popped out of existence. Panic hit her once again. If she couldn't have fire how was she to make light. She had tried, when younger, to create a spell that would be a small glowing ball of energy, likened to a wisp or lightning orb, whose only purpose would be to light up the night but she had failed. No matter how she tried neither she, nor Bethany (or father for the that matter) was a spell weaver.

Mykale's breathing increased, eyes darting around the pitch black room, frantically trying to think of a way she could bring light to the small cave without using fire. Magic for long periods of time would be unsustainable so a ball of lightning would be useless, never mind that lightning was ridiculously hard to control. A spell wisp would rapidly drain her mana and while feasible for the short run, she had no idea how long they would be trapped.

A soft blue glow emanated in front of her. Fenris had lit his tattoos, the blue glow shining in his eyes as he stared at her.

Mykale couldn't help but trace the markings with her eyes, leading to his face. "I didn't know you could light them without battle," she whispered finally meeting his gaze. He didn't say anything. "Thank you,"

His eyes narrowed at her. "You are afraid of the dark?" while his tone was curious, Mykale couldn't help but flinch as though it was a flung accusation.

Carver had teased her all her life because of the fear. To him it seemed irrational that the same person who could fling herself into an outnumbered fight and win would be afraid of something as simple as the dark. She shivered, but it wasn't simple and her brother never wanted to understand that. And now the one person she traveled with who would possibly use that knowledge against her knew her fear.

Swallowing hard, she turned away from him jerkily. Sitting down on one of the fallen boulders, she dug through her pack, trying to ignore the look she was receiving from Fenris. A large part of her wanted to go to the other side of their small prison, to pretend that nothing was wrong; to continue to try to find a way out but the same cold fear still gripped her and the darkness from that corner danced menacingly at her, forcing her to remain within feet of the glowing elf.

As though sensing her thoughts, Fenris did not speak again. The only sound he made was a soft grunt when he sat down, his greatsword spread on the ground next to him, his hand holding the injured shoulder. He was still watching her when she stopped needlessly riffling through her things, instead concentrating on her breathing.

Nothing was here, nothing will hurt her. The mantra repeated in her head while she clenched and unclenched her hands, the movement taught by her father to try and calm her down. It was a conscious recognition that if she did not control her emotions, magic could pour out of her fingertips.

Something occurred to her and she suddenly looked at him, or technically at his shoulder. "Your shoulder," Mykale's voice cracked slightly. "Is it still bleeding?"

Fenris' brow furrowed but he pulled his hand away. Even in the eerie blue haze of the only light in the room, they could see his hand coated with fresh blood. Several things fleeted across his face, not the least being resignation and fear. Finally he looked up from his hand and at her.

"I don't have to use magic to heal it," Mykale offered, allowing the focus of his injury to take her attention, pushing the fear to the back of her mind. "But if it's still bleeding you need to have it looked at,"

At first it seemed like he would refuse, chancing that they would be dug out in only a few hours and he could take his wound to a clinic and have it looked at by a non-magical healer. Mykale could almost see his mind turn; weighing the chance they would not be out for more than a day over the severity of his injury.

He looked down, his lips pressing together tightly. "I have no bandages," he confessed.

Mykale let out a breath of relief. She could do this; she knew how to heal normally and magically. As long as she kept her attention on him, on making sure he would mend properly she could get through this. "I have some," she fished out the wrapped gauze. His face was contorted into confusion. "What?"

"Why do _you_ carry bandages?" Now his voice was accusing, as though demanding her to answer the absurdity of a mage carrying bandages when a simple wave of her hand and a spell would heal almost any wound.

"For situations like this of course," Mykale retorted cheekily. Fenris' glare didn't change. "I actually mean that almost literally," she surrendered. "I have medic training, the healer in our village taught me." Shrugging, she pulled a cloth and canteen from her bag. "I couldn't use magic outside the house but I wanted to be of use, I hate sitting around." Although his face was clouded with shadows she could see his eyebrow arch, an amused smirk twitching on the corner of his lips as though mocking her playfully. "Hard to imagine me getting restless," She shook her head. "I," clearing her throat she tried again. "I obviously need to see the wound if I'm to treat it,"

With cautious movements, Fenris shifted, leaving his leaning position against the wall to sitting in front of her, sideways so he could still she what she was doing. There was a dark patch on the wall where his blood had stained the stone.

She grimaced at the sight of the smeared blood on his armor. Wiping as gently as she could, Mykale attempted to clean the area around the wound only to determine that she couldn't reach it with his armor on.

Licking her lips nervously, she spoke. "The wound goes under your armor," He looked at her. "I can't reach it all with your breastplate on," His glare twisted into one filled with mistrust and discontent. Reaching up, Fenris started to unlatch the buckles of his armor. "Let me help—"

Mykale leaned forward only to stop when he cringed back, one hand stretching for his weapon, a noise falling from him that sounded like a snarl. The glow from his markings flickered for a moment. She didn't move. The seconds dragged on for ages as he took the armor piece off himself. When the armor from his upper half was removed she held back a gasp of awe.

His markings, the lyrium tattoos carved into his skin, wove their way down his body, stretching in vine patterns down his arms and back. Mykale made herself look at his shoulder, knowing that he would not like her staring at him. The wound was harder to see as he was farther away but the gash marred the flow of the tattoos and blood darkened his back.

Dripping water onto her cloth sparingly, she waited. Fenris sat closer to her, hesitation marring his tense movements. Mykale pressed the cloth on his back and both of them gasped in unison. His marks sung out to her through the fabric, burning brighter as it tangled with her magic. Pulling her arm away, she took several deep breaths in, gawking wide-eyed at the elf who had gone still.

"Maker," Her arm fell limp in her lap. "That was," she couldn't continue.

Mind reeling Mykale went over the reaction. The lyrium had burned brighter for the brief moment she had touched him, yearning to be utilized more than they were. She had never heard the lure of the lyrium that loudly before. When younger, her father had explained what the Harrowing was and how it felt when touching pure lyrium. Goosebumps ran down her arms. The power, the feeling, it was intoxicating, alluring—it burned in her a desire for more.

She looked at him, her mind finally catching up that her reaction could have startled him. Fenris was hunched over, head bowed, nearly still but for short soundless breaths. A horrid thought struck her.

"Did that hurt you?" With how sharply his head turned in her direction she was worried his neck would snap. "The lyrium, I," she shook her head. "I had no idea." Mykale floundered for something to appease him, to let him know she now understood. "Does it react with all magic like that? Or does it only do that when I," she looked at her hands. "When a mage touches you?"

Fenris didn't answer at first, as though trying to determine how much he should entrust to her. It made sense, she reasoned, just as she was unsure whether to tell him why she was afraid of the dark, he might not want to reveal a weakness to her. After all, they had only known each other for a fortnight. While in that short time, Mykale had grown close to the others in her group, Fenris had always held all three mages at a distance, watching them with open mistrust. Even full-blown hatred the one time Anders had cast a healing spell at Fenris without warning, the elf had nearly attacked the blonde. If magic of any kind caused his marking to react the way it had to when she touched him; if that reaction hurt—no wonder he hated magic.

"It," Mykale was annoyed that she actually jumped when he finally spoke. "Is fine," He said through clenched teeth, as though the words were hard for him to say. The elf moved so he was positioned back in front of her.

Shaking, she began to clean the wound. The surge of power happened again, tingling her fingertips. Desperately Mykale tried to ignore it. His wound was shallow and seemed more a burn mark than a cut. That was easily fixable; she fumbled for the salve of healing balm. A smear of that covered with a bandage he would be healed in a day.

Her hand trembled and then stopped right above his skin. "I, I have to put on an elfroot poultice to prevent infection," Mykale whispered.

Fingers brushed on his skin and she felt a jolt, sending tingling waves of energy through her body. Suddenly something pressed beyond the song of the lyrium, a darker voice. Yanking her hand away as though he had burned her, she suddenly understood. His lyrium was being augmented with his blood, opening a path that screamed for her to use.

"Fuck,"

Fenris regarded her with surprise, this being the first time he had ever heard Mykale curse. She quickly padded the bandage and wrapped it around his injury. Sod rubbing in the cream, the sooner his blood was covered and she could stop touching his enthralling markings the better. It wasn't the best job she had done treating a wound but it would have to do for now.

With a quivering hand, she tried to clean her hands. "You'll waste water," Fenris' voice of reason broke through the silence. Mykale looked at him, wondering what he would do to her if she told him about the whispers from his lyrium. It was clear from the look on his face that he thought she was disgusted with him and wanted to remove any trace of him from her.

Mykale looked away. Nothing to focus on but the shadows and whispers, neither comforting, and neither helping her keep calm. Closing her eyes, she hugged her knees to her chest. She recited the recipes of potions in her head, another technic she invented to keep control in troubling times.

It was perhaps close to two hours later when Mykale ran out of potions, poisons, salves, and even cooking recipes. Ever the herbalist, she had learned hundreds ways to keep herself alive in the wild on the off chance her family had to run into uncivilized land. She took a deep breath in and opened her eyes, startled to see him staring at her.

"Your hand is bleeding," he said.

Looking down she blinked, uncurling her fist. Her fingernails had dug into her palms, cutting little crescent shaped wounds. Sighing, Mykale shook her head. A blue glow enveloped her hand and the wounds healed.

Fenris was still studying her. "There is no one here but you and I," He left the true question unasked. Why was she afraid?

She frowned. "How about this," Mykale lowered one of her legs and scooted back until she found the wall. "I'll answer one question from you with complete honesty, if you do the same for me,"

A nasty look passed his face. "Honesty?" he spat, the unspoken 'from a mage' rang out.

Shrugging, she leaned her head back against the wall. "I suppose we could play Truth or Dare but Isabela would kill us if she found out we did it without her, she loves coming up with dares," Mykale could have sworn she heard the smirk that was fighting its way onto his lips. "You can go first, I guess, though I think I know what you want to ask,"

"Why are you afraid?" His question came several minutes later.

"There are many ways I can interpret that question," Mykale mused. She had to chuckle at the look he gave her. "I don't do well with the dark," A shiver ran down her spine. "Always been terrified of it, drove my family nuts with how much it cost to let me have a light burning constantly," She neatly side stepped his inquiry, hoping that he would not ask for more details. "When I touched your marks, did it hurt you?"

His eye twitched and Fenris seemed to be trying to ascertain her motives. "Not in the way you might be asking," A sliver of a smile spread across her mouth. He was just as skillful at answering without answering as she was. "Is there any particular reason you 'don't do well with the dark'?"

Damn him, she should have known he would prod deeper. "Yes." Mykale replied curtly. If he wanted the story he would have to give tit-for-tat. "Would you clarify your response?"

Fenris shifted so that he was leaning against the wall himself, facing her. "They did not cause pain like the wound you treated,"

Mykale arched her brow slightly; interesting. He did not deny that his tattoos hurt only that it wasn't the type of pain she had thought it was. What other types of pain were there?

"What is the reason you are afraid of the dark?"

Closing her eyes she idly wondered if telling him the truth was a good idea. She had started the game because of her own nagging curiosity, the intense desire to know whether or not she hurt him unintentionally. Not even her own family thought much on the why behind her fear of the dark; they just tried to deal with the consequences.

"Something bad happened to me once in the dark," Her turn. "What exactly did you feel when I touched you?"

Fenris didn't respond. Opening her eyes she looked at him. He seemed to be deep in thought. "The markings burn when activated and when in close proximity to a source of magic," he decided on. Clever, he did not actually answer her question but his response was enough for it to count. "What exactly," The elf reiterated her words. "Happened to make you afraid of the dark?"

Mykale bit her tongue. What aspect of it should she explain? If she gave a half answer would he continue giving a half answers? Was getting to know this strange warrior worth someone knowing the truth? Flexing her hands open and closed again, her heart pounded. Their questions were aligned, one for one, and if she stopped now neither would have to continue. Beyond her fear, that cursed sense of curiosity bubbled. She wanted to know more about him. He would never talk to her as he did Varric if only because she was a mage. An even exchange of information seemed the only way to get to know him.

"When I was seven," the words began forming before she had fully made up her mind to tell him. "I went wandering away from camp; my family was in the middle of moving again to avoid the Templars." She kept her eyes on the glow that reflected on the ceiling. "There was a small cave system nearby and I thought I would explore it, dreaming of treasure and wealth." Swallowing hard, Mykale continued. "I know now that it was an old slaver's hold, a jail carved into the back." She could see it as though she were watching it happen to someone else. "A man was in the center, a chest dug up from the floor of the cell in front of him" Mykale felt detached. "He noticed me spying on him and everything happened so fast. The torches in the room doused and we were in darkness, I was terrified. The fear broke through the veil and I heard the whispers of the Fade. Spirits promising help if I let them. I thought a demon was going to try to possess me,"

She stalled. That was enough information, she could easily finish the tale off with a harrowing escape and he would have no choice but to believe her and none would be the wiser. Mykale pushed that thought away. She had moved beyond that ages ago, she was not ashamed to admit what happened, only embarrassed that even after all this time the _dark_ that frightened her.

Mykale tugged her hair out of its ponytail, allowing the brown strands to fall down around her shoulders. "He attacked me," She admitted knowing that 'attacked' was an incomplete description. "It was so dark I could not find my way to escape." Biting her lip, Mykale blocked out the emotion twisting with the memory. "Anyway," she brazened past the truth. "My father found me. When I heard his voice I preformed my first bit of magic and blasted the man into a stalagmite," Her head bowed. "Father was outside the cave calling my name. Took me back to camp and that was that,"

Silence pulsed for several moments before Fenris spoke. "You are frightened of the dark because of a beating you received by a man in the dark while being afraid of possession." He recapped making it sound as though it was ridiculous.

"No," she snapped. "I'm frightened of the dark because I was raped by a man while the Fade begged me to agree to help while surrounded by pitch black." Mykale bit back bluntly. Fenris' face became unreadable. Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore him. "Ever since, whenever it's dark like this, I remember that night. When he attacked the whispers from the Fade came up all around us. This blackness causes the whispers to come back, trying to use my fear to their advantage,"

"I am sorry." Words she had never thought she'd hear from him fell from his lips. She looked at him, trying to read his face. "It was unjust of me to dismiss it as nothing."

Slowly she nodded. "It happened a long time ago." Mykale reasoned. "It's not the act that frightens me," the mage found herself explaining. "It happened and nothing I do can change it. For years I was ashamed, thinking it was somehow my fault," Something akin to understanding fleeted across his face. "Even now that shame affects me but I know it's irrational. What happened was not my fault, it was his. I was just a stupid child drunk on adventure stories who hadn't a clue what was really out there," she explained, flicking a piece of dirt from her knee. "Still, whenever it's black, no light whatsoever, I feel,"

"Like you're back in that place," Fenris finished. Mykale held his eyes and nodded. For someone as abrasive as the elf was, he was remarkably astute. They were silent again, each lost in their own thoughts. "It is your question," He brought her attention back to him.

Her brows arched. He was welcoming her to ask? Unknowingly, Mykale gave a small nod when she determined she would continue their game. "Why won't you let Anders or I use healing magic on you?"

Fenris' lips turned into the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen on him. "Are you aware that magic has a feeling when it is cast?" Mykale wondered if he realized that he had answered her question with a question. She nodded. "The lyrium provides me with a natural resistance to most if not all attack magic," Fenris began explaining, his deep brogue comforting in an odd way. "Those spells are full of determination, usually to hurt." She had never heard magic be described this way. "Healing magic along with augmentation and protective spells are different, they transcribe the," He seemed to search for the word. "Soul, the personality of the user,"

"You mean you feel what the caster feels when it hits you?" the idea astounded Mykale. If that was the case—her mind churned the possibilities.

"In Tevinter healing magic was as much a punishment as it was to mend the injured," Fenris couldn't keep the bitter tone from his voice. "When healing, the magisters care nothing for the person, the only reason they waste the energy is so that they will continuing having able slaves to do their bidding," Mykale shivered at the thought. "Their healing spells burn, the magisters enjoy it. They want their slaves to feel every bit of pain possible while closing the wounds,"

Mykale felt ill. Actually feeling the wound mend, the skin coming together, blood flowing again, she shuddered, a renewed desire to murder every magister she came across burning through her mind. "Maker," she breathed. "So when Anders and I cast healing magic on you, you must have thought—"

Fenris shifted, wincing when he moved his shoulder. "When that abomination," he sneered at the mention of Anders. "Casts healing spells, he is completely unaware of how they scream." She frowned. "His magic is torn, Hawke. That thing that possesses him is unnatural and whether the mage senses it or not, his magic rebels. Every time he uses his power, it is forced along a path that the demon wants it rather than how it would be natural for him to cast. It tries to latch onto the lyrium in my marks to backlash, to repel the foreign force but it doesn't work that way,"

Blinking, Mykale tried to process the information. Her father had taught her everything she knew about magic. Most people described magic as a splash of water when it was not an attack spell—attacks usually were spoken of what they were and that they caused pain, she had never heard of anyone saying that magic felt. And yet when learning magic, her father told her to feel, to summon the strength to put aside her emotions and thoughts, and just feel the pulse of nature, bend her desire into reality. When she was younger she had broken her arm and tried to practice with her non-dominate hand only to discover it felt wrong and either summoned nothing or exploded in her face. If that was how Anders magic was being contorted, how could he not notice?

Looking back at Fenris, grateful he gave her time to mull over his words. "And me? Does my magic hurt you like the Tevinters did?" She hoped he would answer her. He had already given her the answer she sought and this was technically another question on top of her previous.

Slowly, the elf shook his head. "I don't know what to make of your magic, Hawke." He admitted. "I've never felt anything like it before,"

She tilted her head to the side, curious. The one time she had healed him was after a battle, she had done it unconsciously and panicked after the spell had been cast. He had looked at her with an alarmed expression causing her to spill apologies.

"Your magic is soft," Fenris was staring at her but seemingly seeing through her. "Like a gentle breeze," She quirked her brow at the imagery. "You don't want to hurt people and it shows. Your healing magic sooths like cold water on a burn," Mykale felt tension she didn't know she was carrying release. She was afraid that she had hurt him. "That day you healed me, I wasn't even sure what you had done." Hints of amusement reigned in his voice. "I only realized that you healed me after you started spewing those apologies,"

A blush crept on her cheeks. "I didn't want you to go all angry warrior on me the way you did Anders," she muttered.

He let out a throaty chuckle causing a smile spread across her face. His laugh was beautiful, rich. "How is it you became a mercenary, Hawke? You are a contradiction if I've ever met one," Fenris shook his head. "You're in the wrong line of work,"

Mykale shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean,"

"You can flatten a Qunari, you have defeated more than one," He narrowed his gaze at her. "You've taken on groups of thugs, mystical forces, and aided more than one stranger. You refuse money you've rightfully earned," She bit her lip, remembering the look on his face when she told him to keep his money the night she met him. She helped him to kill slavers, no payment required. "You're powerful, Hawke and yet you do not seek power. You're intelligent but you let your heart rule your decisions. You have the guard-captain in your pocket and are well on your way to becoming a rich woman if the Deep Roads trip goes well, but you don't seem to care about any of that."

"I don't." she agreed.

"What do you care about? What do you want?"

She picked at a spot on her boot. His question sounded eerily similar to what he had asked her just after they left the mansion. She hadn't known how to answer him then and she didn't know now. "My family," Mykale reiterated what she had said before. "My mother lost so much and I'm trying to make her happy, maybe give Carver the break into heroism he's always wanted," Looking up at him, she found herself lost in his eyes for a moment. "Freedom," she whispered the truth.

"For mages?" he was obviously trying to control the growl in his voice.

"Not that type of freedom," Mykale whispered, bringing her other leg back up to her chest. "Mages are dangerous, I've never denied that," She rested her chin on her knees. "Many mages turn to horrid things because they claim they have no other choice." His gaze pierced her like pinpricks. "It's mostly bullshit, I know. Blood magic has no excuse, it opens another gate for demons to torment you with." She licked her lips. "But I understand the desperation,"

Fenris glowered.

"The Circle doesn't work like it should," she started. "Nothing does. The Circle should be a place for mages to learn magic in safety but that's not always the case." Mykale tried to explain. "Templars, for whatever else they are, they are still just men. In a position of power and power can corrupt," Fenris twitched. "For every Templar like Cullen who takes the heart of his job to action, there are a dozen who are in it because they crave the power. They want to punish us magic users and being a Templar gives them leave to do it,"

She sat back. "The Chantry is right, magic should never rule over man." Mykale said. Fenris regarded her with surprise. "But neither should magic users be taught to fear and hate their magic," she retorted. "Mages are told again and again from birth that magic is a plague, a vile curse that makes people see children as evil. Children, innocents who have not yet learned who they are, are told that they are evil because of something they were born with, not unlike how elves are treated,"

"Magic is far different than being born as an elf." Fenris ground out.

"Different yes, but the abuses are the same." Mykale contradicted. "Elves are hated because they are unlike humans. They are look down on because for a perverse reason humans think they're better. Normal people, humans, elves, dwarves, people without magic enact crimes just as vicious as mages but it is we who are told that the Maker hates."

Looking at him, Mykale found herself revealing more of her past. "My mother wanted to report the man. Tell the authorities, mother had no idea I had performed magic. Mother was certain that if they just left my father out of it, justice would be served." Shaking her head, she sneered. "Turns out the man was the son of some visiting duke. My word against his," she swallowed hard. "He didn't even deny what he had done." Mykale shook her head. "The moment they heard I did magic, it was my fault. I enticed him, I spelled him. It was I, a child, who forced this man to rape me." Raking her hand through her hair she untangled some of the knots. "We barely got out before they had me shipped off to the Circle where they would treat me the same."

Fenris turned away, trying to think over the information she had told him.

Sighing, she braided her hair, trying to keep herself occupied. "Templars have the same type of absolute power in the Circle as the Tevinters do to slaves. Not all abuse them," she continued quickly. "But even you admit, that power is enticing, intoxicating. Those men vow themselves to guard people they are told are evil. Mages have no one they can turn to for justice if a crime is committed against them, no one believes them. To the world, they deserve it because they have magic."

It was obvious that the comparison was bothering him.

"Mages are ripped from their homes and sent to a tower where they are rarely ever allowed outside again." Mykale shivered, remembering the first time she had seen the Circle Tower in Fereldan. Kirkwall, granted, was worse being a literal prison but Ferelden's seemed so isolated; at least Kirkwall mages had a courtyard they were allowed into that had passing merchants for socialization. "They are verbally abused with the concept that their magic is an affront to the Maker and because of it they are worse than criminals and must be watched. Some, if they step even the slightest toe out of line, are punished."

"You have seen what happens when those guarding mages become lax," Fenris challenged. "You have seen the damage the mages cause,"

"The damage _one_ mage causes," she corrected. Fenris reared back. "Why is it our society can judge one man on his actions without involving those around him but when it comes to mages we are all guilty for the sins of some?" She could almost see the thoughts racing through Fenris' mind. "Am I guilty for the abominations that we run into? Is it _my_ fault that a group of mages give in to what we are told our entire lives, that we are evil? If it's not my fault, if I'm not guilty, why am I hated for what they did? Do I not have the right to be judged on my own actions? On my own merits?"

Mykale looked away, staring at the shadows on the collapsed doorway. "You asked me what manor of mage I am, what I want, what I seek," She closed her eyes. "I seek the freedom to be judged for who I am, not what I am."

Quiet permeated their small cave, neither breaking it, both lost in their own thoughts. Mykale had to feel some sort of comfort that, despite the conversation turning to a subject that was uncomfortable for both of them, Fenris had not become vindictive. His tattoos still lit the cavern. Hours or minutes, time did not have much meaning, came and went and she had been dozing off when she heard a sound.

"Sister?"

"Carver?" she was on her feet, stumbling towards the voice.

"Bloody hell, how do you get yourself into these messes?"

Her brother's question caused her to laugh. "Just lucky I guess," Mykale retorted. "How about you worry less about how I got here and more about how you're getting me out," She could picture the face he was making at that statement.

"Hawke?" another voice came through the stones.

"Merrill?" Mykale was surprised they had gone to get her. Anders hated her about as much as Fenris hated both of them. The elven mage was rambling but she could only catch every other word. "I can't hear you, speak up?"

"Oh," Merrill's squeak was loud and clear.

"Stand away from the stone, Hawke." Varric ordered, summarizing whatever Merrill had said. "Daisy is gonna blast them away,"

"Are you sure that's wise? Wouldn't that cause the cavern to cave in on us?" Fenris' voice came from beside her causing her to jump. She hadn't even noticed him getting up.

"It's not really a blast," Merrill reasoned. "More of a repositioning,"

Mykale frowned. "If you kill us, I'll come to haunt you!" she threatened. Fenris looked at her bemused.

"That sounds interesting, please do. I'll set out tea for you—do ghosts like tea? I've never met a ghost before," Merrill's statement earned faint laughter.

"Just move away from the door, Hawke."

"Aveline? Did everyone come to rescue us?"

Anders' laugh broke through the stones. "You're just that special. Trust us now, move away from the rocks."

Shrugging she stepped back. "Come on," The two of them retreated to the back corner of their cave. "OKAY!" she shouted.

A rumbling vibrated through the ground. Moaning followed by the sound of something shifting caused dirt and pebbles to fall from the ceiling. Fenris muttered a few curse words in Arcanum, automatically shielding her again with his body. A few moments later light spilled into the cave and the reverberating noise stopped. Peeking out, Mykale squinted.

Vines had shot out from the ground, forcing the stones up and holding them there like a net. Anders and Carver were ducking under the arch, looking up nervously and motioning for the two of them to move. Wordlessly, Fenris and Mykale ducked out, pausing only to grab his sword and her staff.

They had made it to the main cave where her entire group of friends was when there was a loud rattle followed by a thump. The arch had collapsed. Merrill turned red; mumbling something about thinking it would last longer.

"Are you injured?" Anders was at her side, giving her unneeded support.

Carver met her eyes. She gave him a smile, gently pushing Anders away. "I'm fine," she assured. Her eyes flickered to Fenris and then back at the group. "I can't believe you all came," she said mildly surprised.

Aveline came forward. "Anders needs to learn that storming the barracks is not an efficient way to remain anonymous," Mykale looked wide-eyed at the mage who had the decency to look embarrassed. "It took me ten minutes to get the whole story from him," the redhead shook her head. "I thought the darkspawn were attacking with the way he raved,"

"I did something productive," Isabela announced. All eyes turned to her. "What, I went to the Hanged Man,"

"To tell Varric?" Fenris asked.

"To get drunk," she stated. "Scuffed up my best pair of boots when that damned rock fell on me," Isabela bemoaned.

Varric laughed. "I found her nursing a pint, when she told me what happened,"

"All the dashing details of course," she wagged her eyebrows at Fenris. "How the broody warrior elf tackled our dear Hawke to the ground, not able to wait to have her beneath his taunt sexy body,"

Anders bristled but Varric interrupted the mage before he could say anything. "I went to get Daisy when I ran into Junior here. By the time I got Daisy, Aveline was at the Hanged Man interrogating Rivaini,"

Following the chain of events was making her head spin.

"It was Merrill who came up with the plan," Aveline explained. "Someone wanted to blast through the rocks with magic," the guard-captain eyed Carver who shrugged. "Others wanted to dig you out rock by rock but it the idea of another collapse was too dangerous,"

Merrill waved her hands. "Oh no, I got the idea from Isabela," the pirate winked at her. "She described lifting a bunch of boxes on her ship with a net and I thought the rocks would work the same way,"

"You did well." Mykale encouraged, happy the elf hadn't used blood magic, only elven. Merrill beamed. "Thank you," she addressed everyone. Making a face she looked at Carver. "You didn't tell mother did you?"

Carver snorted. "No way I'm making an excuse if you didn't come home; I decided if you were going to be stuck here all night until we thought of a plan, I'll be out too. A least then she won't pester me with your location," she punched his arm lightly.

"Speaking of home," Aveline started forward. "We need to head back to Kirkwall if we want to make if by sunset." And with that she determinately marched out of the cave system, followed by the others.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Carver asked falling in step beside her.

Swallowing hard, Mykale looked up at him. "Well when the cave was sent into pitch black I didn't do so hot," she said softly. Her eyes fell on Fenris who was studiously walking without talking to anyone. "But I'm all right, I survived."

Carver gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. He didn't understand her fear, even now, but at least he acknowledged it. Smiling at him, she watched him get drawn into a debate happening between Varric and Isabela. Anders joined in a moment later leaving her walking toward the back by herself, the others content she was safe and now working off the adrenaline they had built when they thought she was in danger.

She was surprised at how they all worked together to try to rescue the two of them. True it was mostly Merrill who saved them and Aveline needn't have gotten involved but it touched her that the large group of misfits she had come across put aside their petty differences enough to care—Anders snapped loudly at Merrill—even if it was only for a little while.

Someone had fallen in step beside her. Her brow furrowed. She had thought after their conversation Fenris would avoid her for a while longer until going back to the 'I hate mages' mantra he had.

"You are different Hawke." His voice was low as to not catch the attention of the others. Mykale looked at him. "You fight for my freedom without want of recompense," Fenris looked at her, green eyes filled with some emotion she couldn't place. "I shall give you what you seek." If anything his voice dropped lower, sending a tingle down her spine.

Mykale blinked, stopping. She glanced at the group and then back at him. "Just like that?" Something stirred in her as she finally recognized the look.

It was respect.

"I can promise nothing more than to give you the same chance you have given me," Fenris said, his gaze intense. "The freedom to be judged not by what you are but who you are,"

"Thank you, Fenris." She whispered softly.

Fenris gave a curt nod and then started walking again. Mykale stared after him, a light feeling covering her. Something fluttered in her gut, like butterflies swirling. For the first time since he had discovered she was a mage, he had not looked at her with veiled contempt. If he could look past his hate, Mykale reasoned as she began to catch up with the group, there was hope for the rest of the world.


End file.
